


Artificial tree

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Christmas Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A-Z Christmas Prompt, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Friendship, John is grumpy, M/M, No Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock burns things, Tree Decorations, charming sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: “It was a simple mistake!”It wasn’t. It could never have been. Sherlock had melted the Christmas tree into a large green gooey puddle speckled with dots of shattered, swirled, dotted colour from lights and baubles, and if it had indeed been a mistake, more than just the tree would have been affected by the fire, yet nothing else had been touched. Somehow, John wasn’t exactly sure how Sherlock had set the tree on fire, let it engulf and liquify, without damaging anything else under and around it. Therefore now, now they needed a new one, a new tree with new decorations, which was hard to do when it was the 1st of December and all the good things had gone. It hadn’t have been a mistake.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Christmas Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559605
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	Artificial tree

“It was a simple mistake!”

It wasn’t. It could never have been. Sherlock had melted the Christmas tree into a large green gooey puddle speckled with dots of shattered, swirled, dotted colour from lights and baubles, and if it had indeed been a mistake, more than just the tree would have been affected by the fire, yet nothing else had been touched. Somehow John wasn’t exactly sure how, Sherlock had set the tree on fire, let it engulf and liquify, without damaging anything else under and around it. Therefore now, now they needed a new one, a new tree with new decorations, which was hard to do when it was the 1st of December and all the good things had gone. It hadn’t have been a mistake.

John scowled at the limited line of trees, hating each and every one of the unwanted, crumpled, ruffled, dented, disproportionate pieces of shaped plastic. They needed one though. The flat needed the cheer. He needed the cheer. It was Christmas and at Christmas there was a tree. Yet each one that stood wonkily before him had a flaw, something not easily fixed by throwing tinsel at it, and John seethed and simmered and stomped his feet, trying to keep from just spinning around and throttling the grinch behind him.

“You can’t seriously be this angry over a disfigured, discoloured, skinny, stupid tree!” Sherlock huffed and John felt his eye twitch. “None of this matters!”

“These are all terrible,” John grumbled, looking around and almost sending a kneecap into a small child who was running around excitedly, “I don't want a bare, shit looking tree. You might think it doesn't matter, but it does to me! So come on, we're going to the next shop.”

“The tree that I _accidentally_ melted was a bare tree!” Sherlock exclaimed, stumbling with a grunt when John snagged for his scarf as he stormed past, yanking the irritating, posh twat around on his heel. They had been to four shops already and still nothing, still nothing but overpriced leftovers. “Why does it matter to you? Why does any of this matter? - We are non-traditional men, John. We do non-traditional things. We live the lives of the abnormal! And we like it.”

“We don't always have to be non-traditional!” John hissed, avoiding an old lady in a mobility scooter who almost ran over Sherlock's toes, “Sometimes I want to do something normal, traditional, pedestrian even! I want a Christmas tree! A good one and I can't have one of those because they're all gone!” He grumbled unhappily as he tugged Sherlock along and into another huge department store that played Christmas songs at a level that was making John's ears ring.

“You do realise,” Sherlock muttered as he fought to try and loosen the slowly tightening length of his scarf, bumping into John’s back with a petulant pout and narrowed eyes, “that traditional Christmas trees are not plastic, yes? If you want to be traditional, especially when it comes to this dreadful holiday, then you’re going to need a real tree--” John yanked on the scarf again, sick of his know-it-all attitude and Sherlock wheezed with widening eyes, grappling onto John’s wrist, following where John dragged him until he was finally able to get himself free and smooth out the ruffles in his coat, rewrap his scarf. “You really must do something about all this manhandling…”

“If we got a real tree then we'd have to sort out a stand – and then hoover all the needles up, and then eventually get rid of it when Christmas is over. It's just easier getting a fake one we can put back in the loft when we're done...” John said, running his fingers across one of the tree branches and sighing at its terrible feel, turning to look at Sherlock. “And I wouldn't need to manhandle you if you behaved like a regular person and walked alongside me.”

Sherlock flicked up his collar with a sour look, “I am being forced here against my will,” he mumbled, “I already apologised—”

“You didn't apologise,” John cut him off, lifting a finger up to Sherlock's face, “Not once… not even about melting the special ornament that Harry got me from Edinburgh when she was sober. You haven't said sorry at all.”

“When you _think_ she was sober,” he said under his breath and John grabbed for his scarf once more to bend the bastard down and loom over him, inches from his smug face. The struggle was only slight and after glaring at each other, John seconds away from nutting him, Sherlock clenched his jaw and lifted his hands. “I’m sorry that I _accidentally_ melted the horrendous looking tree and the so-called special, though extremely cheap ornament that your sister gave you.” John took a sharp, violent inhale, ready to do something about that arrogance, but Sherlock quickly covered John’s whitened knuckles. “All right, all right! I am sorry, John. I wasn’t aware that such a sentimental piece was on the tree...”

John considered still hitting Sherlock, it might make him feel better, but he didn't want to ruin the Christmas shopping for the kids who ran excitedly around them. Dropping his hand from Sherlock's scarf, John straightened his shoulders and spine before looking over at a box of shiny red and green baubles, “I appreciate the apology,” he said quietly, giving a slight nod, “I just… Christmas is important to me. Decorating the tree, wrapping presents, spending time with family… it's important and seeing it burnt and a pile of goo upset me more than I expected.”

“You decorated the goo tree alone,” Sherlock said, though his tone was soft and when John glanced at him, his brows were faint bunched, head tilted to one side. “And your only family is not returning any of your texts, calls or emails.” He let out a long breath and held up his hands again, placating. “Being nostalgic is one thing, but you don’t seem happy. You’ve not smiled, not done much of anything, since November. You’ve been like a ghost, a shadow, you’ve not reacted genuinely to anything. - Well, until now.”

“Christmas is hard...” John answered, wishing they weren't in the middle of a packed shop being bombarded with Mariah Carey music, “It's a hard time of year for me and the rituals of Christmas help me to manage with it…” He lifted up a small sugar plum fairy toy purely as something to do with his hands before he frowned. “Is that why you burned it? Because I haven't been paying enough attention to you?”

Sherlock arched one eyebrow, “You honestly think I’m that petty?” 

“You can be...” John half shrugged, putting back the toy and turning to look at Sherlock, “I don't think you did it maliciously, I think you probably didn't think about it but I think you definitely were looking for a reaction.”

Frowning at him, Sherlock blinked and looked away, pressing his lips together for a brief moment, “The good Christmas trees are over there,” he murmured with a directional gesture, changing the subject, deflecting and ignoring John’s accusations. With a small sideways glance, Sherlock started off toward them to make sure their conversation was severed and John sighed, allowing it, for the moment.

The trees looked a little better in this shop but were still not as perfect as the one which had been destroyed. John sighed as he sized each of them up, looking at their branches and then shaking his head, “They're not thick enough. It'll look like there are missing bits. I need one that fills the gaps.”

“What do you expect from plastic trees?” Sherlock snorted but he turned, peered around, checked the time, took John’s wrist in hand and marched them toward the entrance, pointing out across the street. “What about that one?” The tree he had singled out was one already set up in the window of a clothing store, perfectly decorated with a rainbow of colours and topped off with a flashing star.

John nodded, “Yeah, something like that would be perfect! But they're not going to know where they got it from! They probably just got it sent from head office or something.”

Sherlock hummed and walked out towards it, leading John by his sleeve, “Let’s have a look at it up close,” he said quietly, an expression of determination coming over his face, the corner of his lips turning up mischievously. 

“Oh yeah, torture me with the trees I can never have. How kind,” John grumbled but allowed himself to be pulled across the street, watching as people weaved around him with their bags full of shopping. 

They were blasted by hot air as the entered and Sherlock suddenly steered him by the shoulders to face a few other trees, “That one looks better, don’t you think so?” he questioned casually, bringing John’s gaze to one near the back. It was less decorated than the one in the window, yet it was thick enough, big enough, and reminded John of the sort of tree his mother had once owned. 

“That's the one!” John said quickly, “That would be perfect. Now, if we can find out where they got it from and maybe we could find it online? Hopefully, they'd be able to get it shipped to us in time for Christmas...”

“Go and inspect it, I’ll ask at the counter,” Sherlock told him and pushed him forward, giving his lower back a push and a pat, before making his way over to one of the members of staff. It was a young woman and John watched her turn, see Sherlock, blush and beam, utterly smitten. 

It wasn't unusual to see someone reacting to Sherlock's presence that way. Sherlock's natural beauty always attracted people, made them think of him in intimate scenarios but John was never worried that he might be left aside as Sherlock found a partner, his sharp tongue and sharper deductions soon sent people fleeing. 

Turning to the tree, John touched the fake needles and smiled. They felt realistic enough and somehow even smelled a little of pine, but they wouldn't shed or cause injury to soft toes when they stood on the needles. John was massively impressed and hoped that Sherlock could charm the details out of the clerk.

As he waited, he admired the tree, the decorations, and even some of the clothes hanging nearby, hoping against hope that there would be enough time, that he would have enough money, to have a similar tree in the flat. He compared it to the one that had been melted, thought of all the differences as well as similarities, and realised, as he stroked another branch of fake needles, how old, how thin, and how unflattering the other tree had been in comparison. Sherlock, it seemed, had been right about the look, though that was no excuse for destroying it. Unlike the tree in front of him, the melted one had been straggly, pale, and very slightly hunched, nothing like he had thought, had remembered. 

Sighing, John stepped back and glanced over his shoulder, noticing that he was the centre of attention for several other members of staff. Sherlock was signalling to him, talking animatedly, and the staff were nodding somberly, moved by whatever words Sherlock had stringed purposefully together. Words that were clearly meant to manipulate. The young woman whom Sherlock had first spoken to was almost near tears.

“Oh bloody hell,” John muttered to himself, “What is he telling them this time?”

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had charmed and manipulated people to get his own way. John hadn't realised until months later but Sherlock had once told Greg that John was dealing with a personal loss which was why they couldn't come in to finish the paperwork for the case they had solved. John had had to explain to Greg that the only “loss” he had undergone was the death of Mrs Hudson's goldfish who had flushed down the toilet for her, obviously, Sherlock wasn't embarrassed to increase the drama on any story. John just hoped that this time Sherlock wasn't telling them something shameful. It'd be just his luck that Sherlock was telling the pretty assistants that John had painful piles. Laughing to himself, John picked up a few little decorations and popped them on the tree branch, purely as something to do whilst he waited, but enjoying how they looked on the lush branches.

“It’s yours,” Sherlock’s crooned in John’s ear several minutes later, patting his hands on John’s arms and grinning widely at him as he leaned over him in expectation, like a puppy waiting for praise. “Consider it your Christmas gift from me.”

“What do you mean 'it's mine?'” John asked, turning to stare at Sherlock, “It's a display… it says right here _not for sale_. How did you manage that?” He was absurdly impressed.

“People are awfully sentimental this time of year,” Sherlock told him with a long sigh, the grin never leaving his face. “Plus, well, how can anyone say no to a hero? To a man who was injured fighting for peace and the good of mankind and all of that tosh.” He stepped around John and began taking off the decorations, forcing a charming, thankful smile on his face when some of the staff came over to help, all of them sending John compassionate and sympathetic glances as they did so. 

“You're terrible,” John whispered to Sherlock, but there was no heat or anger behind it, if anything he sounded almost impressed with Sherlock's ability to get his own way. Joining in with the decoration removal, John swayed and bumped his shoulder into Sherlock.

It was an awkward faff carrying it out of the shop, especially when staff tried to shake John’s hand and wish him Merry Christmas, but they managed it without too much hassle and all too soon were cramming it through the door of 221B to carry up the stairs, to fill the empty space the old tree had once taken up. Sherlock helped to position it correctly and spread out the branches, becoming a sudden perfectionist when it came to the angle of each one, including the overall shape of the tree, and so John stepped back to watch him fiddle, aware that he would be shooed angrily aside if he remained. The sight warmed him. Considering Sherlock’s aversion to the holiday, to the trees, to every single custom connected with the time of year, he was unsure if it would last and so stood by, delighted with the involvement, even if it was just for a moment.

He was thankful that they had bought a few boxes of new decorations in the shops as they looked for the correct tree which could now be used to decorate. John busied himself opening bags and boxes, attaching string and ribbon to the baubles and then opening the box full of tangled Christmas lights. “Lights first,” John said as he finally found the end of the stringed bulbs, “We should have enough to go around...”

“We should have a colour scheme first,” Sherlock told him, hands on his hips as he scrutinised his handiwork, looking at the tree from almost every side, adjusting a few branches. 

“Well… this is our colour scheme,” John said with a grin as he gestured to the various coloured glass and plastic, “It's multi-coloured. Christmassy colours! That's the theme.” 

Sherlock leaned out from behind the tree with a lifted eyebrow, “Traditional Christmas palettes are a combination of whites, reds, greens, silvers, and golds,” he told him. “You do not need to use everything that you bought.- Why did you buy such a mismatch? Through anger? Was it clouding your ability to make rational and aesthetically pleasing decisions? Or have you always been bad at decoration?”

“Okay, so it might not be the most fashionable tree!” John scoffed, lifting up a glittery bauble with a huge grin, “but I like when its a bit mismatched. It's personalised. It's more about enjoying putting it up than how it looks.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Sherlock replied as he strolled over and crouched down opposite him, examining the boxes with a look of pompous disgust yet reaching to start untangling the lights from each other. There were at least three sets of them, all newly bought, some in their own cases, and others already unravelled from John’s rough treatment of them as he’d thrown them all together in one space.

“Christmas snob,” John scoffed, nudging Sherlock with his toe, “You're lucky I didn't buy the dinosaur in a tutu decoration… I was seriously considering it for a while...”

“I noticed,” Sherlock sighed, as if he was worried for John’s sanity. “And I am not a Christmas snob. The entire reason people buy fancy lights and decorations is to outdo others, or their past selves. To have the best looking tree, the most decorated room, the greatest illuminated house. People pretend and lie that it’s about enjoyment, about merriment, about togetherness, but that’s far from what Christmas is now.” He looped one set of lights around John’s shoulders and then picked up another, checking them over, surveying each bulb in turn with deft fingers and piercing eyes, then took them to the tree. “These first.”

“I had no idea you were such a tree nazi,” John huffed playfully, following Sherlock along and feeling a little like he was on a lead when Sherlock helped and picked up the plug which was trailing behind him, “Especially since you let me put the other one up by myself!”

“You _chose_ to do it alone,” Sherlock corrected him with a pointed look. He began coiling the chosen lights around the tree carefully, adjusting how they sat on the branches and how close they were to the plastic trunk. “I can leave you to it, if you prefer? - I do advise against it, though. You’re awful at accessorising yourself, let alone a tree.”

“No, no… come on...” John huffed, almost tempted to switch the lights on whilst Sherlock was fussing with them and hope they gave him a shock, “this is a family thing. Decorating the tree is a family affair and that's how it should be here.”

Sherlock paused for a second with a darting glance, “All right,” he murmured gently, mouth turning up the slightest degree. “I may need your input, of course, as always. About some things. Small things. The light timing, for instance.”

“Of course,” John grinned, shimmying some branches and helping Sherlock to correctly position the lights, “I like the gentle ones...its calming. The fast ones make me feel like I'm in a disco.”

“A rave more like,” Sherlock agreed in a low mutter, signalling John to the other side of the tree so he could start to thread them around to him as they got lower and into thicker branches. “We’ll put two sets of lights on the tree and the last over the mantel.” 

“I've ordered a garland for Mrs Hudson too,” John said idly as he worked quickly, his surgeon fingers making quick work of the pesky branches, “she liked the orange smelling ones so I ordered one. She seemed a bit angry at me for putting the tree up when you were out… She really glared on her way out!”

“Are you sure that was why?” Sherlock asked, coming to collect the lights from around John’s shoulders when they were done securing the first. “Perhaps she was angry that you neglected to assist her in the erecting of her own tree?” He flashed John a small, twisting smile, then shrugged. “She did ask after you during.”

“I didn't realise she wanted help...” John frowned, “I didn't know anything about it until you came back up from helping her. I thought you were just down there… doing whatever it is that you two do together. Plot schemes or money laundering…” He fell quiet for a second. “Perhaps I should apologise?”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, “No. She’s not one to hold a grudge for very long and really, you weren’t to know. - It doesn’t matter.”

John looked at Sherlock and then out of the window, watching as people walked to and fro towards the tube station, the sounds of muffled conversation passing by, “And I'm sorry I didn't wait for you before I put the first one up. I assumed you weren't really bothered. I didn't realise you'd take this much of an interest in it...” he smiled softly, “So… yeah… I'm sorry.”

“I’m not bothered,” Sherlock replied, however he didn’t return John’s gaze and instead shifted so he was half-hidden amongst the tree, his long arms winding the second set of lights in another swirling pattern, different to the other. John knew better than to believe him. His actions contradicted what he said. What came out of his mouth was not always the absolute truth, not when it came to things like this. “It was a chore with Mrs Hudson. I was forced to intervene. Can’t have her falling, it would only give her something new to chunter about.”

“Yeah, don't want to spend the entire Christmas period helping her to and from the loo,” John laughed, catching Sherlock's eyes briefly to share a grin, “For what it’s worth though… I'm glad we could do this together. Not to say that I'm glad you burnt our other tree, but I'm happy with this. It’s much better.”

The rest of the decorating was calming and only a tad frustrating, and by the end of it, they once again had a tree. A new tree with new decorations and new memories. John was sure it was an unintentional symbolism for what they had, for the life they lived, though he couldn’t find the energy picking at it. Things were right, the flat was cheery and Christmassy once more, and John now had another insight into Sherlock’s ridiculous and often cruel actions, one of many insights, some of which he was sure were falsehoods. 

“So, how should we celebrate a job well done?” John asked, wiping the glitter from his hands onto his jeans without a care, “We have wine, scotch or gin? Or we could crack open the tin of special biscuits I put away for the run-up to Christmas?” He seemed to be finished with his suggestions before he remembered something else, something he considered custom and felt his eyes lit up, “Or we could watch Die Hard!”

“If you’re talking about your DVD I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…” Sherlock murmured and backed away. 

John glanced to where the other tree had stood, to where the melted plastic had puddled, to where he suddenly remembered putting Die Hard down the night before whilst looking through the rest of their collection. He had been distracted. He hadn’t put the DVD back. It had been the target all along. He turned slowly, threateningly, and there was a small pause, a blink, before John lunged for Sherlock, missing him by mere inches and chasing him around the kitchen table.

“It was a simple mistake!”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be about 1000 words *sigh*
> 
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> 
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> 


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